


FWB at First Sight

by candlesneedflame



Series: The Conquests of Matt Murdock [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, I delivered, M/M, Schizophrenia, Suicide Attempt, and other classic literature, be that nothing or everything, but if anyone else would like to write the omitted smut please note that they're both switches, do with that what you will, eighteenth century french poetry, incoming trigger warnings:, unfortunately no smut, you asked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlesneedflame/pseuds/candlesneedflame
Summary: God knows what Matt and Wade's relationship is in The Teenage Vigilante's Guide. God knows where it's going. But I'll tell you how it started.
Relationships: Dopinder (Marvel) & Wade Wilson, Jack Hammer & Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock & Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock/Wade Wilson, Nathan Summers & Wade Wilson, Neena Thurman & Wade Wilson
Series: The Conquests of Matt Murdock [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558651
Comments: 31
Kudos: 423





	FWB at First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to tupacase again for betaing this! This is only the first installation of this series within a series of TVG, and I'll continue to add them when inspiration strikes. Check the tags for trigger warnings, and enjoy!

"Weas," Wade says as he collapses onto a stool and reaches behind the bar to grab a shot glass and something to fill it with, "I'm in love."

Weasel pauses in midway through pouring the cocktail he just mixed out of the shaker and visibly takes a moment to process this new information. Even for Wade– _especially_ for Wade– that's a pretty fast rebound. Especially considering exactly _how_ it was his last relationship ended. 

"I... uh, already? I mean– who is it?"

"Not a who," Wade corrects, and Weasel braces himself for what's to come. "A what."

Although he’s more than tempted to drop the conversation then and there, Weasel addresses the issue head on. It'll only get worse if they put it off longer. "Do we need to remember that stuffed unicorns aren't people again?"

Wade scoffs as though that's not something they've already had to talk about, on multiple occasions. It's one of the more bizarre types of interventions he's held for Wade.

"It's not a unicorn. Might as well be though, cause it's damn magical."

Weasel sighs and rises to the bait. "What is it?"

"An ass."

That's... Better than what Weasel was expecting actually.

"Whose ass?" he asks, grabbing a bottle of slightly nicer whiskey and pouring it into Wade's shot glass.

"Daredevil's," Wade says, like it's nothing.

"You're in love... With Daredevil's ass?" Weasel asks, for clarification.

"Bingo!" Wade replies.

"When have you even _seen_ Daredevil? When have you seen his ass?"

"Have you _seen_ the suit that kid wears? It's practically painted on," Wade says with a groan that has Weasel pulling a face.

"You didn't answer my question– when have you even seen his ass?" Weasel says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, it all started about half an hour ago..." Wade says in his storytelling voice.

_Wade's been doing a lot of domestic work lately. Not domestic as in cooking and cleaning—he did plenty of that while he was staying with the X-Men—domestic as in murdering people in America. This job just happens to be more domestic than most, considering he can complete it without even leaving the island of Manhattan._

_Wade really couldn't give two shits about the gangster he's going to be slicing, dicing, or shooting; it's an easy job for easy money and he'll be damned if he passes that opportunity up. Especially if fucking Roger wants the job. Screw him, Wade's taking it._

_Wade's strolling down the street in the direction of the address he'd been given by his employer, doing a duet of Mr. Sandman with one of the boxes (one of the pitchier ones at that, unfortunately). In fact, he's almost at the address when he sees someone get thrown through the front window of a dry cleaners._

_Wade checks the address written on the back of his hand._

_The man who was just thrown through the window struggles to his feet._

_Wade checks the address on the dry cleaners._

_The man gets to his feet and promptly has something thrown at his head hard enough that he collapses back into the glass._

_Wade winces a little on his behalf before shrugging, cracking his knuckles, and resuming his duet and strolling towards the chaos._

_Once he's closer, he notices that the flying projectile used to knock the guy out was a stapler._

Innovative _, Wade thinks before entering the store through their newest, sharpest doorway._

_There are unconscious, but probably not dead, bodies all across the floor of the shop, and that's when Wade sees It._

_There, in front of the counter, to the left of the cash register, just past the plastic palm tree, beneath a sign that states that the cost of cleaning jackets is going to be raised beginning last week, is That Ass. It's so beautiful that Wade could cry._

_That Ass is currently choking a guy out against the wall. Not just any guy—the guy who Wade needs to gut like a fish._

_After a few more seconds, Wade's guy goes unconscious and crumples into a pile on the ground._

_"How much would I have to pay you to get you to choke me like that?" Wade asks._

_That Ass is unfortunately obscured from Wade's view as its owner turns around to snarl and stalk towards him._

_"The fuck are you?" That Ass growls, coming to a stop just in front of Wade._

_For all the terrifying anecdotes and the evocative costume, Daredevil is significantly shorter than Wade had been expecting. The shorter you are, the closer to hell though, so he guesses it makes a fair amount of sense for the Devil to be topping out at 5’10._

_"Ah my bad. I’m Deadpool, and I'm here to kill that guy," Wade replies, and before he can even gesture to the man on the ground behind Daredevil, he's caught a knee to the face and a pair of killer thighs wrapped around his neck, flinging him down to the ground._

_"How much for you to choke me like this?" Wade, ironically, manages to choke out once he's on the floor._

_"Fuck you," Daredevil snaps._

_"You promise?" Wade asks._

_Everything goes black._

"And when I woke up, Daredevil and my guy were gone! How rude! Hasn't he heard of professional courtesy?! I'm sure the Punisher would never do this to me!" Wade finishes, slumping back down against the bar with a defeated sigh.

"Well... You did kinda sexually harass him," Weasel points out, refilling Wade's glass again after he pathetically pushes it forward. “He might not have enjoyed that.”

“He’s the physical embodiment of sex, all wrapped up in skin-tight red leather, and there is nothing I’d rather do more than unwrap him from the skin-tight red leather,” Wade replies, downing the shot.

Weasel pulls another face at that. “Okay, you think he’s hot. Are you just gonna bitch to me about it or are you gonna do something?”

The instant he sees a light flick on behind Wade’s eyes, he knows he’s fucked up.

* * *

“The fuck do you want?” Daredevil snaps, glaring down menacingly from the fire escape he’s standing on.

Wade heard that Daredevil knew everything happening in every corner of the Kitchen every second of every night, but tracking him down within five minutes of crossing that boundary is truly impressive.

“I was looking for you. Wanna come down from there now?” Wade asks, doing his best to be pleasant.

“Fuck no,” Daredevil answers rather unpleasantly.

“Fine then.” He can work with this. The setting reminds him of something– oh, that’s _perfect_. “What shitty TV light through that window behind you breaks—I wish I was your glove so I could touch those cheeks,” Wade calls up at him, theatrically clutching a hand to his chest and reaching towards Daredevil with the other.

Daredevil stares down at him blankly, but the majority of the menace is gone from the look.

“Was that—was that supposed to be _Romeo and Juliet_?” he asks.

“The setting seemed appropriate,” Wade answers.

“That was a balcony. This is a fire escape.”

“Bastardized setting, bastardized version. Did you like it?” he asks. Shakespeare is romantic—definitely not sexual harassment.

“It was terrible,” Daredevil says.

Ouch. His heart. “What was wrong with it?”

“Everything, to start with. Besides—I can’t stand Shakespeare. Get out of my city before I beat your ass again,” Daredevil says before turning away from the street and just sorta… melting into the shadows.

“The fuck is your city?!” Wade calls into the darkness. “This is a neighborhood! Your range is like… two square kilometers! At most!”

“Fuck you!” the darkness calls back.

“Promise?!” Wade shouts.

He swears he hears the darkness laugh, but it could just be the boxes.

* * *

“Uh, Wade?” Domino asks in the voice that she tends to reserve for when he’s getting manic and arguing with himself out loud. “What are you doing?”

Wade downs his shot and sets _The Count of Monte Cristo_ on an area of the bar relatively free of suspiciously sticky spots.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re doing summer reading for your tenth grade English class,” Domino replies, moving the stack of books off of the barstool beside Wade so she can sit there.

Wade hums and does another shot.

The bar seems to be entirely sticky, so rather than just setting the books on it, she reaches behind the bar and grabs one of the rarely used rags to wipe the worst of the spillage off.

“Seriously, what is this? _The Count of Monte Cristo._ _The Great Gatsby. Of Mice and Men. The Picture of Dorian Grey. Fahrenheit 451. Atlas Shrugged?_ Really?” She can’t even attempt to keep the confusion (and judgment at the last title) out of her voice.

“He doesn’t like Shakespeare,” is all Wade has to say as he picks his book back up to resume reading it.

It’s only at that moment that Domino notices he has an honest to God notebook sitting beside him. A notebook which he is diligently writing in.

She has no idea how long she’s been staring at him in pure shock when Weasel finally makes his way back to that end of the bar.

“Oh, hey Doms,” he says, like he’s surprised to see her, like she isn’t in there almost every night.

“What the hell is he doing?” she asks, pointing to Wade who ignores her entirely.

Weasel sighs. “He’s putting the moves on Daredevil.”

He… what?

“What does that have to do with the high school required reading list?” she asks.

“He quoted _Romeo and Juliet_ at Daredevil, and apparently Daredevil told him it sucked and he didn’t even like Shakespeare. So now he’s determined to find something Daredevil will like. You want something to drink?” he says in that defeated voice he always gets after failing to make Wade see things the logical way.

“Surprise me,” Domino says, still watching Wade.

He turns the page.

“Gotcha.”

She watches Wade take his notes—actually, he seems to be writing direct quotes from the book.

Weasel sets a cocktail in front of her.

Wade turns the page again.

She takes a sip and is pleasantly surprised.

“You know how to make a blood and sand?” she asks.

“Huh? I just threw a bunch of shit in a glass. Is it good?”

“It’s my favorite drink,” she says, turning back to watch Wade.

Wade closes _The Count of Monte Cristo_ and picks up _The Picture of Dorian Grey_.

* * *

This time, Wade makes it fifteen minutes before gaining himself a shadowy stalker.

“I’m not stalking you,” Daredevil says, which means Wade must’ve said that last part out loud. “You’re the one that keeps coming here to see me.”

“I’m not here to see you,” Wade says.

“Lie,” Daredevil says.

“The only kind of lying I’ll be doing with you is the biblical kind,” Wade says, earning himself a huffed exhale that could be the precursor to either a laugh or a killer eye roll—not that he’d be able to tell through Daredevil’s mask.

“Funny, but you’re still lying. What do you want?” Daredevil asks, cocking his hip slightly as he waits for a response.

“To lie with you. Biblically,” Wade reiterates, staring Daredevil down.

“At least you’re being honest,” Daredevil says, even though his face is wrinkled up a little distastefully.

“Does that mean I can stay?”

“No. Get out of my neighborhood,” Daredevil says before slinking off around a corner.

Wade feels his heart stutter in his chest for just a moment. Daredevil took his comment from last time into consideration.

* * *

The next time Wade’s in Hell’s Kitchen, he honestly isn’t there to bother Daredevil. Really. He’s there on his own business, and that business is getting shitfaced at a bar where nobody knows him.

He opens the door to a rather seedy looking place, and some of Domino’s luck must’ve rubbed off on him considering that the sight that meets him: Hell’s Kitchen’s Hero.

Granted, said hero is being pinned down to a pool table by four guys while a fifth one levels a handgun at his kneecap.

“Damn, Daredevil. I figured you were freaky, but even I’ll admit this is a little fucked up,” Wade says on reflex. Really, how could he walk in on a scene like that and _not_ say something wildly inappropriate? 

That comment manages to grab everyone’s attention for just long enough that Daredevil can pry his leg free from one guy’s hold and kick him in the face hard enough that Wade hears his nose crunch from across the bar.

That sends the guy stumbling back, and Daredevil’s somehow managed to get the guy holding onto his right leg into an arm bar that makes his shoulder crunch louder than the other guy’s nose.

Guy number five—the one with the gun—seems to realize suddenly that he can change the tides back to his favor with a simple tap of the trigger, but Wade realizes this faster and in his own act of karmic justice, pulls his gun and shoots out both the guy’s kneecaps.

The two who had been on Daredevil’s arms join their compatriots rolling on the floor in agony just a moment later, and Daredevil hops gracefully off of the pool table. Kicking the two remaining conscious men in the head as he passes them.

“You’re bleeding,” Daredevil says.

“… huh?”

Daredevil gives him that incredibly flat look again. He must’ve practiced it in the mirror to get it that good. 

“Symanski shot you.”

Wade glances down at his shirt and sees blood soaking it. A quick touch on his back leaves his fingers wet with blood.

“It’s fine— it went all the way through,” Wade replies with a shrug. “Give it another thirty seconds.”

Daredevil cringes slightly, which Wade figures is pretty fair.

“Since we’re here already,” he says, “wanna get a drink with me?”

“No,” Daredevil says.

“Come on, I just saved your ass. Can’t you admit you’re at least a little happy to see me?”

Daredevil gets a smirk on his face that makes Wade want to do unspeakable things to him—particularly to his mouth.

“I can guarantee you that I’ll never, in my life, be at all happy to see you,” he says to Wade.

Ow. His heart. Again.

“Well, in that case I’m gonna steal a few bottles of whatever the hell I want and then leave. No crime in that,” Wade says. “Well, technically it’s looting, but in the grand scheme of things, that’s barely a crime.”

“It’s larceny, actually,” Daredevil corrects from where he’s standing. “But I’ll allow it.”

“Grammar Nazi,” Wade mutters as he hops over the bar to inspect their collection.

“Gotta know the laws to break them,” Daredevil replies.

“Like you’ve ever “committed larceny”,” Wade says, air quotes and all.

He can see Daredevil smile in the mirror that lines the entire back wall of the bar.

“You’re right.”

“And this is why you’ll always be fond of me. I represent all the sins you never had the courage to commit,” Wade says.

Daredevil is quiet for a moment.

“I prefer Wilde to Shakespeare, but he’s still not my author of choice,” he eventually says before tacking on, “You’re pretty well-read for a guy who kills people for a living.”

“You’re pretty well-read for a guy who beats the shit out of people for free,” Wade shoots back, actually earning a laugh for that comment.

“Have fun with your stolen liquor,” Daredevil says, making his way to the door.

“Aren’t you going to tell me to stay out of your city?” Wade asks as Daredevil pulls the door open.

“It’s a neighborhood,” is the only answer he gets before Daredevil is disappearing again.

* * *

“Hello, Mr. Pool,” Dopinder says, reaching up to take the rag off his shoulder and clean off one of the many grimy glasses behind the bar. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Dopinder, you’ve killed two people for me, or at least because of me. I think we can be on a first name basis when you’re off the clock,” Wade says without looking up from his book.

“Alright, Wade,” Dopinder replies, more than a little bit giddy. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Mr.– _Wade_ finally looks up from the book he’s been completely absorbed in for the past two hours.

“Weasel’s letting you make drinks now? When the hell did that happen?” he asks.

“Tonight’s the first night actually—he said it’s back to mopping if I don’t do well though,” Dopinder replies, setting down the still grimy glass and grabbing another to clean. “So what can I make for you?”

“You know what, I think I’ll have an Old Fashioned,” Wade says, writing something down in the notebook on the bar.

“Right on it, Mr. Pool,” Dopinder says with a grin

* * *

Wade’s leaving Sister Margaret's at around a quarter past who-the-hell-even-knows-anymore with the intention of going to his apartment that definitely doesn’t feel like home and blowing his brains out for the third time this month, just to see if the outcome is going to change.

“ _It’s not going to work._ ”

“Yeah, but maybe I’ll get to see her for a couple minutes,” Wade replies.

“ _Only if you use the sawed off, and you remember how hard that was to clean up last time. There are still bits of skull in the wall._ ”

“I think it adds character to the place.”

“ **We haven’t tried swallowing a grenade.** ”

“ _That would be even harder to clean up!”_

“But he’s right, we haven’t tried it.”

“Kick it up a notch. Commit seppuku in the living room. The rug is ugly anyway.”

“ _Doesn’t that involve disemboweling? That’s gonna smell awful._ ”

“ **I still like my grenade idea better.** ”

“ _No! Just… hang out in the bathtub and drink Drain-o or something. That’ll be easy to clean up!”_

“Pussy.”

“ _Shut up._ ”

“You shut up.”

“ **Yeah, go big…** ”

“Or go home.”

“ _I hate it when you two gang up on me._ ”

“I gotta side with them on this one. The point is suicide. Ideally I won’t need to clean it up because I’ll be dead.”

“ **Thank you.** ”

“So seppuku it is.”

“ **Hey! Why not the grenade?!** ”

Wade finds his conversation rudely interrupted by an uninvolved party feeling the need to join in.

“Who are you talking to?” this new, not-in-his-head voice asks.

Wade turns to glare at the commenter only to see—

“Daredevil?”

Daredevil steps out of the shadows of the alleyway and tilts his head in that freaky way of his. “It’s me. Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, you know,” Wade says, gesturing vaguely. “The boxes. But more importantly, I can’t believe you came all this way to see little old me! I knew you felt the same as me!”

“I am _not_ here to see you,” Daredevil replies instantly. “And I’m sure as hell not pursuing you.”

“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired,” Wade replies, and he’s pretty proud of himself for that one. 

Daredevil doesn’t give him the flat look, but he does give him a look. It’s one that Wade can’t even begin to try and read.

“If you’re going to quote Gatsby at me, we could at least do it over gin,” Daredevil says in a gentle tone that Wade _really_ isn’t a fan of, even if it does make his heart do that thing again.

_“You should go do that._ ”

“And flake out on us? Rude.”

“Sorry, I’ve got a date with my katanas and my dead fiancée,” Wade replies, turning to resume his commute home.

Unsurprisingly, seppuku doesn’t do the trick. It doesn’t even kill him for a second. That’s why he set the shotgun nearby before he got started.

When Wade does come to, the first thing he notices after the splitting headache is that the floors aren’t nearly as bloody as they should be. The second thing he notices is that his intestines and non-pulverized bits of skull and brain have been deposited in a bucket a few feet away. The third thing he notices is that his window is unlocked.

* * *

“ _See_ , I told you,” Domino says.

Nathan looks to where she’s pointing, rather aggressively, at a table near the back of the bar.

Just like she’d said, Wade’s sitting there, sipping on some disgustingly sweet drink and… reading. Actually reading. A real book.

“The fuck?” Nathan says.

“Thank you!” Domino replies, pulling at her hair. “Thank you!”

Nathan walks over to the table and sits across from Wade, letting his arm thump down on the table louder than necessary.

“What do you want, you sexy piece of DILF?” Wade asks, not looking up from the book. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Nathan doesn’t say anything, just watches in stunned silence as Wade picks up a pen and writes down something in a notebook. He can’t read Wade’s handwriting for the life of him, so it’s no use even trying. But even then, he’s pretty sure it’s not in English.

A closer look at the book shows that it isn’t in English either.

“What are you reading?” he asks hesitantly.

“I know I called you a DILF, but that doesn’t mean I want you to act like my dad,” Wade replies obnoxiously, turning the page.

Nathan rolls his eyes and snatches the book off the table so that he can see the front cover of the book.

LA

**HENRIADE.**

_DE_

_Mr_. DE **Voltaire.**

What. The. Fuck.

“You’re reading Voltaire,” Nathan says.

“Oh look, you _can_ read. I was starting to wonder with how long you needed to stare at the cover,” Wade snarks, taking his book back and opening it to the same page he’d been on a minute ago.

“You’re reading Voltaire. In _French_ ,” Nathan says, adding on _that_ key detail. “Do you even speak French?”

“ _Oui_. I’m Canadian, dumbass.”

“Not all Canadians speak French, moron,” Nathan shoots back. Though maybe moron isn’t the word he should be tossing at Wade.

“Well this one does. Are you done harassing me now? I need to finish this,” Wade says, finally looking over at him.

Nathan puts his hands up in surrender and leaves Wade to do… whatever the hell that was.

He makes his way to the bar where Domino is sitting and talking to Weasel and plunks down next to her.

Weasel pours him a shot without prompting. “What’s he reading now?”

“Eighteenth century poetry. In French,” Nathan answers.

Weasel glances to the back of the bar. Nathan knows what he’s going to see, so there’s no reason to look back as well.

“The lengths he goes to get laid,” Weasel says, shaking his head fondly.

“Who’s he trying to fuck? _The Queen?_ ”

* * *

“Hey,” a voice says from behind Wade.

Normally he’d just ignore it and keep going, but he doesn’t recall this particular voice ever coming from his head before. He turns around.

“I need your help with something,” Daredevil says.

“Nice to see you too,” Wade says, because those are the only words his brain can form in this situation.

Daredevil gives a flat look.

Wade sighs. “Lead the way, Mr. Manners.”

Daredevil ignores the jab and leads him to an apartment building a few blocks away. The place looks like a crack den, but Wade keeps that to himself as they walk deeper and deeper into the place, eventually entering a unit on the third floor.

“There,” Daredevil says, pointing at something at the base of a pillar in the middle of the room and staying where he is.

Wade casts a glance at him before approaching the pillar.

“Uh, Daredevil?”

“Yeah?” Daredevil replies from where he’s still standing a few meters back.

“That’s a bomb,” Wade says dumbly.

“It’s a dirty bomb,” Daredevil says before tossing a flip phone at Wade. “Put your number in that. Save it under six A’s.”

“You know, if you wanted my number all you had to do was ask. You really didn’t need to go to the trouble of setting all this up,” Wade says as he enters his number into the burner phone carefully, saving it as AAAAAA just like Daredevil requested. He tosses it back over when he’s finished.

There’s a scoff, and Wade is ninety-nine percent sure it’s accompanied by an eye roll.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was on my way to get Castle when I ran into you instead. Figured you’d be able to follow instructions at least as well as he can. Now stay here and wait for me to call you,” Daredevil says before climbing out the damn window.

Wade leans against the wall and pulls his phone out of his pocket to unmute it. He looks at the time.

Looks at the bomb.

Contemplates the fact that it’s radioactive to some degree.

Contemplates the fact that radiation doesn’t really mean shit to him.

Part of him wonders if maybe that bomb going off could manage to kill him—it’s definitely one of the few methods that he’s never tried before. Because it isn’t worth how many other lives it would take.

Wade stares at the bomb and wonders just how far he’s willing to go to get to appreciate That Ass up close and personal. He followed it to a crackhouse and is sitting with a dirty bomb on its request, after all. Eventually, his phone rings with a soon-to-be-saved-number.

“Hello?” Wade says.

“Oh good, he didn’t manage to set it off when he pushed that button,” Daredevil says, and if that isn’t the least comforting thing Wade’s heard in a long time then he doesn’t know what is.

“Uh,” Wade says.

“That was a joke. I’m kidding. I would’ve heard it go off,” Daredevil says. “Are you ready for instructions?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Wade replies, stepping up to the bomb.

“Great, you heard him,” Daredevil says to someone who Wade assumes isn’t him. “Now repeat what you said to me earlier.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” says a voice muffled due to its distance from the phone.

There’s the sound of a punch landing.

“That’s not what I meant,” Daredevil says. “Tell him how to disable it.”

“ _Pull out the red wire_ ,” the voice says.

Wade reaches for the red wire.

“DO NOT PULL OUT THE RED WIRE!” Daredevil yells.

“You know, you’re really sending me mixed signals here,” Wade says, not pulling out the red wire.

There’s some shuffling on the other side of the phone.

“I know you think you’re doing the right thing,” Daredevil says in a scarily gentle voice, once again not to Wade. “That’s what they told you, yeah?”

Wade hears mumbling, but he can’t make out the response.

“They don’t care about you. They left you here—you do realize we’re in the blast radius right? I mean, hell, you built the thing. Of course you know. I know that you’ll be alone without them. But you’ll be alone if you die too; taking the whole block with you won’t make you any less alone. There’s a woman two floors below us, reading a bedtime story to her daughter. The man next door is talking to his brother on the phone about how he’s going to propose tomorrow. A girl on the first floor is studying for her first midterm in college—organic chemistry. She’s singing right now, and her cat is sitting on the desk. It’s purring.”

There’s silence for a moment, then “ _Pull off the front panel_.”

“Les meurtriers surpris sont saisis de respect; Une force inconnue a suspendu leur rage,” Wade murmurs as he pries the piece off to reveal the guts of the bomb.

“What?” asks Daredevil.

“I’ll explain it later,” Wade replies. “What next?”

The person continues to walk him through the steps until the bomb lets out a loud beep, followed by all of the blinking lights shutting off and Wade having a mild heart attack.

“It’s done,” he says.

There’s a breath of relief from Daredevil. “Go up to the roof of the building. I’ll meet you there.”

The phone beeps a couple times to signal the end of the call, and Wade takes a deep breath before heading back out of the apartment and up the stairs leading to the roof. He’s there for a few minutes before Daredevil arrives, melting seamlessly out of the shadows.

“That thing you said on the phone. What did it mean?” Daredevil asks without preamble.

“Nice to see you too,” Wade says again. “It’s not important. I just take it that Voltaire isn’t your author either.”

Daredevil laughs softly and shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

“Not Shakespeare, not Wilde, not Voltaire. You aren’t giving me a lot to go on, Double D,” Wade says. “Who is it?”

“You really want to know that bad?” Daredevil asks with a bit of a smile.

“As long as it’s not Ayn Rand. That bitch is crazy,” Wade says.

That gets him another laugh.

“God no, never,” Daredevil says. “But I will say, there are other activities I prefer to reading.”

“Oh?” Wade says.

“Would you like to find out what?” Daredevil asks with a look that says he already knows the answer.

“ _God,_ yes.”

Daredevil tilts his head in a gesture that Wade (correctly) takes to mean _follow me._

Daredevil leads him over rooftops and down fire escape and through all sorts of trials and tribulations that are significantly harder than the guy makes them look. By the time they come to a stop on the roof of a four story building, Wade is embarrassingly out of breath.

“That doesn’t bode well for your stamina,” Daredevil says as he turns away from Wade in favor of opening up a door and heading down the stairs immediately inside it.

“That’s where the unparalleled healing factor comes into play,” Wade says, following after Daredevil and shutting the door behind him.

They’re in an apartment—Daredevil’s apartment, Wade assumes. The first thing he notices is that it’s dark. The second thing he notices is that it’s huge. The third thing he notices is that it’s got practically nothing to fill the space aside from sparse furniture and too many liquor bottles.

“You gonna stay on the landing all night, or are you gonna come down here?” Daredevil asks from where he’s standing near a broken sliding door.

Wade’s more than a little shocked to see that the mask is in Daredevil’s hand at his side rather than on. He’s even more shocked that the guy still has _that_ nice of a face with the number of beatings he must take on a nightly basis.

“Coming, definitely coming,” Wade says, taking the stairs two at a time.

Daredevil is smiling at Wade from where he’s now leaning against the wall.

“So, you gonna tell me what it is you prefer?” Wade asks, because he’s ninety-nine percent sure he isn’t reading the situation wrong, but on the off chance he is, he’d like to make it out with all his limbs intact. The only thing really throwing him off is the guy’s refusal to look him in the face, but with how Wade looks, refusal to look at him isn’t exactly a new thing. He’ll take what he can get.

“Mm…” Daredevil hums, as he hooks his fingers into Wade’s belt loops and hauls him closer, tilting his head so that he’s speaking directly into Wade’s ear. “Think you’ll be able to manage if I tell you _how_ I prefer it?”

Wade settles both hands on Daredevil’s waist and nods. “That _is_ something I pride myself on.”

“Hope I don’t damage your ego too bad.”

Wade snorts. “Just shut up and tell me how you want it.”

“ _Rough._ ”

* * *

“You’re not bad at that,” Daredevil says, _five hours later_.

“Not bad?” Wade says. “Damn, I really should’ve taken that warning about brutally slaughtering my ego more seriously.”

Daredevil huffs a breath out through his nose. “Fine. You’re good. Is that what you needed to hear? Or do you need me to stroke your ego some more?”

“I think you’ve done plenty of stroking,” Wade says as he gets up and starts pulling his clothes back on. “And judging by the way we didn’t get a noise complaint, I’m assuming you do that much on a regular basis.”

Daredevil rolls his eyes but doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled out on silk sheets. “Yeah, well, you have my number now if you want to find out just how regular that basis is.”

“I just might take you up on that offer.”

* * *

Wade does take him up on it. After the sixth time, Daredevil gives him the number to his actual phone, not just the burner. He still hasn’t given up a name, but to be fair, Wade hasn’t either.

It’s not until the tenth time that Daredevil falls asleep before he leaves.

By the twentieth time, Wade doesn’t leave until the morning.

Daredevil’s still asleep when Wade wakes up and slithers out of bed, slinking around the apartment to collect his clothes from the various places they’d been flung and put them back on.

His shirt ended up on the small bookshelf that sits where most people would put a TV, and after Wade pulls it on, he crouches down to inspect the books on the shelf. Daredevil never did tell him what he liked to read after all.

He pulls out a heavy book with spiral binding, flipping it open to a random page.

The first thing that hits Wade is a sharp wave of confusion as he stares at a blank page.

The second thing that hits him is a tide of realization as he runs his fingers over the hundreds of bumps covering the surface of the page.

The third thing that hits him is Daredevil’s voice.

“ _We must dissent from the indifference. We must dissent from the apathy. We must dissent from the fear_ ,” Daredevil recites from where he’s leaned against the doorway, and Wade swears he can hear the guy's voice catch a little on ' _fear_ '. “Thurgood Marshall.”

Daredevil is trying to be casual, but by now Wade knows him well enough to tell that it's all fake. They may not know each other's names, but they know each other pretty damn intimately by this point. He can see it in the tight pull of Daredevil's lips, in the rigid way he holds himself, in the tense line of his shoulders. Hell, he keeps tossing glances to where he hides the damn suit. He feels threatened, vulnerable, and all Wade can think is that he never wants Daredevil to have to feel that way around him.

He swallows hard and shuts the book, sliding it back onto the shelf. “I’ll have to check him out. Got any suggestions, Mr. …” Wade trails off, finally asking what he hadn’t dared to until then.

“Murdock,” Daredevil says after a moment. “Matt Murdock.”

"Wade Wilson."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and comments if you liked it, and don't forget to check me out on tumblr at dumbbitchnumberone!


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